


The Thoughts

by SecretSantaSpecialPseud



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Endgame, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, References to Drugs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:07:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11010321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretSantaSpecialPseud/pseuds/SecretSantaSpecialPseud
Summary: This is a heavy story about suicidal thoughts, please if this is a trigger to you, don't read it! There's also some violence (including domestic) mentioned, and violence with guns in passing.----John Watson thinks about the times he thought about dying. The thoughts were always, and they would always be, if only he could mute them from time to time.This is a reflective story about suicide, and how the thoughts can never disappear but can be overcome for John Watson. This is also a make peace story, and I suck at summaries, so here goes a quote:"The thoughts.John is six and playing football when he sees a 12-years-old Harry giving a peck to a girl at the same time he hears his friends yelling bad words at her, and he wants to go to the road and put into consciousness by some car.John is eight and he receives the Man United jersey he wanted; he’s so happy that he thinks about dying that moment because he’s that happy, and it’s so good the feeling you have now, that nothing else matters."





	The Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for any mistakes, I wrote this at 2am.  
> TW for suicide thoughts and attempts, violence and drugs (in passing), homophobia (in passing)  
> Sherlock BBC goes to BBC, Sherlock Holmes to Conan Doyle.

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

This is the mantra in John Watson’s head heading home from work and passing Blackfriars, the Thames just there waiting for his corpse.

He can’t believe the thoughts are back after all this time. He was in Afghanistan’s invasion; yes, he was a doctor not a soldier, but that should make him stronger; watching so many men dying at his hands suffering, crying over lost families, sons, daughters, should have made him averse to the idea of dying.

Yet, here he is yelling to the cabbie to stop just outside the bridge; there is no reason for the driver not to, so she stops the engine and, after paying, John leaves the car and starts walking without a destination in mind. His only goal is to think.

Think about the what nots and the what ifs of his own life:

**_What if he had never gone to Afghanistan?_ **

All the pain experienced at the war wouldn’t have existed; all the bodies fallen wouldn’t be on his mind, craved like an iron on an animal’s back. There wouldn’t be the good memories either, the ones he remembers with Sholto and his other men. Would it be so bad then? Yes, he would lose the good memories, but it was also the good memories who made him think of a time better than the now; a time where these feelings of death were on the back of his mind, and they would pass even at night all alone.

**_What if he had never got hurt?_ **

The war was pain. That day he was just outside the med to buy a bottle of wine from the local family in the pacified neighbourhood. He was waiting for his bottle and enjoying playing a match of football with some Afghanistan boys and girls, all of them laughing and some even asking if he had ever met David Beckham, when it happened. There was no call about it, just the masked men arriving with big guns and killing people and more people. John couldn’t have done anything about it; there was this boy, just a 5-years-old, moments before he was asking what offside meant. He turned around, he looked at John and he cried when John was shot. Scared, of course, afraid no doubt that the same would happen to him… it didn’t, what happened was so, so much worse. And when John was wrapping the boy’s body, his corpse cold, his eyes closed, his smile forever extinct, John knew he couldn’t go on anymore. So, when is leave came, he should’ve been happy, but it made it worse. Now he only thought about death.

**_What if he had never gone to London?_ **

London wasn’t his hometown; yes, it was where he studied, where he first fell in love, like real love. But it was an empty city now; nothing was the same, or he wasn’t the same as before. John Watson was now a shell of a man, and the thoughts were back. The money wasn’t much, so he tried to find a job in a hospital or a clinic; saying it was a hard task was putting it simply. People don’t look at a man with a cane and a limp the same way they look at a man with an easy smile and no demons within. London was a cage with the perfect ending: a nice little river where he could disappear forever, his body unfound. Why not there and then?, is a question he asks himself a lot alone at night, Rosie asleep by his side. Maybe it was just stubbornness, or a sadistic desire to prolonging the thoughts. He just knew London was the place he wished to die, because of the anonymity of it all, just another dead corpse at the bottom of the Thames.

**_What if he had never met Sherlock?_ **

No. Sherlock is the one person he doesn’t regret knowing. Even with all the bad memories, his fake death, even with the good memories. Sherlock just is. He is. There’s no John Watson without Sherlock Holmes, of that he’s sure about.

**_What if he had never met Mary?_ **

Maybe this shouldn’t be a regret. Maybe he should blame Sherlock for having known Mary. She just stood out because Sherlock was dead and John was in pain. He longed to have something again, someone to hold onto. When Sherlock was dead he wanted to die, but then again, he couldn’t. He couldn’t without seeing that Sherlock would be considered a hero and not a fake. And in his wait Mary happened. And somewhere in the shape of her body, in the way she smiled, in the glint of her eyes, he saw Sherlock. It was a mistake; Mary was no Sherlock, nor she could ever be. But she just had that energy, maybe it was the danger, maybe he felt that like Sherlock had said when he told John the truth about Mary. But Mary was more than Sherlock, in a way. She was his chance to live a little longer, she was a reason to not die for, even if it was just for the memory of one Sherlock Holmes.

**_What if Sherlock had never come back?_ **

Well, he’s glad Sherlock came back. He needed him, fuck, he wanted him. The proposal was not the place nor the time. He should’ve come back earlier. But he couldn’t, and John had already sealed his fate. It wasn’t bad, he was happy with Mary, she could give him a family, something John knew Sherlock wouldn’t be able to, at least not for the moment, and not the way he wanted. So Mary would be his wife and the thoughts would disappear.  
_If only…_

**_What if he had never found out the truth?_ **

Maybe Rosie wouldn’t exist, and just the thought of it hurts. Rosie is his sunshine, a little child with curly hairs, just the way he loves them.

**_What if Sherlock had never shot Magnussen?_ **

Mary would be the one. Maybe she’d have been in jail and not dead. Maybe she’d be in jail and die there because of her past. Most likely. Sherlock wouldn’t have to leave and say those words: “Sherlock’s actually a girl’s name”. Why would he say that? Why would that be the most important thing he had to say to him? John had thought about that a lot: did Sherlock want so much someone with his name?; did he want a family?; did he want a family with John? But that was all nonsense. There was never any interest in Sherlock’s eyes, and why would be? Sherlock wouldn’t want the burden of the thoughts.

**_What if Eurus never happened?_ **

Mary would probably, most likely be dead just the same. A past like hers would always come back to haunt her and the ones she loved. He would’ve never beaten Sherlock, hurt him like John's abusive father once – or twice (or maybe more) – did to him and Harry; he would’ve never neglected Rosie because the thoughts were back stronger than usual, more intense now that he had insisted on staying with her even though he wanted to walk away. But walking away is what he had always done: with Harry, with that boy and that pain, with even Sherlock. And when he hadn’t, he made the wrong choice. And Eurus came like the wind and the thoughts grew stronger: He was hopeless; Rosie was practically abandoned by her own dad; Sherlock was into drugs because of the blame John brought; E. was just another thing to think about. John was dirty, dirtier that the waters of the Thames.

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

_“Sherlock, Rosie, Mrs. Hudson”_

The words were being whispered. The almost white blond haired man was looking at the Thames and thinking. The what ifs were so many; the regrets even more. But there was no justification for the thoughts. They just were. Always there, always in the darkest of the nights, but also in the happiest of the times. They were lurking, waiting to overcome him.

**_The thoughts._ **

**_John is six_** and playing football when he sees a 12-years-old Harry giving a peck to a girl at the same time he hears his friends yelling bad words at her, and he wants to go to the road and be put into consciousness by some car.

 ** _John is eight_** and he receives the Man United jersey he wanted; he’s so happy that he thinks about dying that moment because he’s that happy, and it’s so good the feeling he has now, that nothing else matters.

 ** _John is nine and a half_** , as he so proudly and needy puts it, when he sees an old lady walking at the corner shop buying some apples; when she leaves, he wants to leave with her, but not only leave, he wants to be her because she is so close to death because she has lived and he hasn’t and he wants to live, but he’s also tired of it.

 ** _John is twelve._** In some way, _The Love Boat_ helped with the thoughts, keeping him distracted enough. But then he sees Harry leaving home just the day after her birthday. It’s not a happy departure, there are fights over Harry’s coming out, and John thinks; he thinks about the years his sister had to hide who she really was because dad would beat her even more if he had known; he thinks about how it would be nice if he just went to black so he wouldn't witness Harry leaving the house after being brutally mistreated; he thinks about dying because he knows that now there’s no one to protect him from his dad anymore, mum just doesn’t care about anything but drugs.

 ** _John is thirteen_** ; the black eye is just a visible sign of his father administrations but for some reason the kids in the school find it not enough so they beat him because, somehow, they found out his mother is a junkie. That time he’s just happy he’s being beaten up by so many, and even motivates them by telling his sister is a lesbian, just so he can go to blackness.

 ** _John is thirteen_** when he wakes up to Harry crying and whispering sweet words on his ears while he’s on some hospital bed. There’s no one else there, and he’s glad about that, because if the universe is so cruel to make him live, he’s not that cruel to make him wake to his parents’ faces. When Harry hugs him, he feels so happy that he thinks he would so very much like to die then because he’s with his sister who really loves him, and what better way to go?

 ** _John is fifteen_** when he kisses a girl for the first time. Sweet little Eve, smart as Einstein, wants to be a doctor when she grows up. John just wants to leave home but he tells her he dreams of being a doctor too, even if it’s not true. Eve smiles sweetly as if she knows and kisses him again. John complies, and even if the tree they’re up against to is nothing magnificent, that moment is, and he just thinks he has lived enough to die.

 ** _John is seventeen_** when he receives Harry’s wedding invitation. His parents refuse to go and they don’t want him to go neither. Nonetheless he speaks to Harry telling about their parents, and she promises to find a solution for him. When she calls two days later, she’s sobbing but telling he can’t go to the wedding. And he knows who’s to blame, but in that moment he just hangs up, and throws himself off the window; just a broken arm, nothing more, and a promise made to himself to never speak to Harry ever again, even if he knows who’s to blame for.

 ** _John is eighteen_** and he enters med school. He’s got a social scholarship, he works part-time and he’s, if not happy, fulfilled. Working at Starbucks is a challenge in a good way, because sometimes he’s yelling at some kids who are disturbing 5 o’clock tea, and sometimes he’s yelling some random name like Wyczyslaw and being proud about his pronunciation. He’s settled, and so are the thoughts. There, always there, but settled at last.

 ** _John is thirty-three_** and invading Afghanistan. Sometimes it’s hard to deal with all the blood and the gunshots he can hear in the distance, but the thoughts are easier to ignore if you have someone who needs you, and the soldiers need him. The hard moments lie when there’s no one to take care of, and the thoughts are back, in the dark of the night.

 ** _John is thirty-four_** when James Sholto makes the first move. He’s not sure about the intentions of his superior when he whispers some compliments in his direction. But John needs him, he needs someone to take care of, someone who wants to be cared. And James is just that person. Kissing him feels the right thing to do and the thoughts don’t leave him, but they become unimportant.

 ** _John is thirty-six_** when he’s shot and everything changes.

 ** _John is forty-four_** and he’s a father to a lovely daughter named Rosamund Mary, who’s just turned two. No more crying at night, just awake at the early morning and begging for food. John wakes every day at 6 a.m. just to watch his daughter sleeping by his side, all the wonder of the world in her relaxed face. And he wants to go with this image of happiness before she starts to question the world, including Mary, her mum.

 ** _John is forty-four_** and Sherlock is there when Rosie and him go downstairs for breakfast. The detective whispers good morning to them both and John just wants to cry knowing their relationship won’t ever be the same after his violence. The thoughts come stronger than ever, every morning. And John Watson knows that all those things he just thought about are nothing compared to the problem he has.

**_The thoughts…_ **

You know, the thoughts, the suicidal thoughts he has, they were always there waiting for something to convince John it’s time to go. The problem isn’t the outside, but the inside. The outside is just a motivation or a stop to what’s inside. And he knows he needs to ask for help again. But he just can’t. It seems so easy to just jump and go to unconsciousness.

John hears the mobile ringing, and without thinking, he picks it up. A sobbing Rosie is on the other side of the line, and he just doesn’t understand what she’s saying.

When he arrives at the nursery school, her tutor is hand in hand with Rosie, still crying. It’s then that the woman on the side of Rosie starts to explain his daughter was afraid because he wouldn’t come up to get her.

Notwithstanding the thoughts, John smiles and picks her up, saying he’ll always be there for her, even if it’s an empty promise.

When they arrive home, Sherlock comments on the delay.

‘Late. Gone to ice cream?’

‘Dad arrived late at school,’ Rosie answers, kissing Sherlock’s hair and going downstairs to Mrs. Hudson, her favourite person due to the ridiculous amount of sweets the landlady gives her.

‘Are you alright?’

John looks at Sherlock, eye in the eye, and he gives in.

‘The thoughts are back.’

They’ve never talked about them, but John knows Sherlock must know, because in a second his best friend – his family – is showing him a card for a psychologist, and he just appreciates how he doesn’t offer to listen, because that means there’s no judgment of what he’s passing through.

‘I’ll go,’ John waves at him and he just wants to hold him for a moment, just a second, but he won’t, he can’t, not after everything he’s done to Sherlock.

‘Oh, John!’, Sherlock’s hugging him with such force John thinks about dying in his arms, and wouldn’t that be kind of poetic?

‘I’m so sorry, Sherlock!’

When he starts shaking, Sherlock puts him on the couch and sits right next to him. It’s more than John had ever hoped for.

‘I’m no psychologist, but I think you have your demons to deal with. Look at me, at how my demons came to find me. Your demons came too, John, just in a different way. No psycho sister for you, my dear friend.’

John laughs freely because only Sherlock to make him laugh after John admitting he has suicidal thoughts.

‘I think I know what I need. I’m not sure but…’

‘You are.’ Sherlock says. ‘You’re sure about that, that’s what you feel you need, and it should be what you have to do.’

‘I need to go to the roots of this. I know – medically – that these thoughts don’t need to be triggered to exist. But in my case, there’s a catalyst. And those were my parents. I’m sure about that. They were so, so unloving, uncaring, just like I was when Mary died. They mistreated us, Harry and I; Harry because she was lesbian; me because I didn’t see anything wrong in it. I need to make peace with Harry, because the alcohol in her life is just like the thoughts in mine.’

Sherlock waves, a sign that he’s listening and John goes look for his friend's hand. It’s warm and it relaxes him immediately.

‘I also need to make peace with you,’ he says finally, and Sherlock inhales and exhales for a few seconds. ‘I know what I’ve done to you, I’ve hurt you, I’ve mistreated you, I was a shitty best friend and a disgustingly dirty friend. You’ve done everything for me, you've died, you've left London for two whole years even though you love this place; you’ve killed for me, you've almost died again on a mission for me… And I was nasty to all those acts of lo… of friendship. I’m so, so sorry, Sherlock!’

‘I know,’ Sherlock’s words are short and concise. ‘I was a shitty friend too to be honest, invading your privacy, hating on your girlfriends…’

‘That’s nothing comparable!’ John exclaims, and he’s certain of his words.

‘I know.’ Sherlock says again.

‘You, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson are my mantra, to distract me from the thoughts.’

‘I know’ Sherlock smiles this time, a tiny little smile of happiness and comfort.

‘You’re my family.’

‘I know’, Sherlock says and his smile grows bigger as if John saying things he already knows is an incredible thing all the same.

‘I’m in love with you.’

The thoughts come at that moment, maybe relying on his insecurities and fears, maybe just trying to move him away from one of his distractions. Sherlock’s face has no smile now, just a wrinkle between the eyes as if he’s solving a riddle.

‘I think I know that too.’

‘Of course you know! I know that you know!’, John can feel tears falling from his eyes, ‘but what about you? Are you in love with me?’

**_What if he had never confessed to Sherlock?_ **

He would’ve never hear him say he feels just the same way.

 ** _John is forty-six_** when Sherlock and him kiss for the first time. It’s a tender moment, a deserved moment at least for Sherlock to have his love reciprocated, a moment John Watson wants never to forget. The thoughts are still there, but in a way John thinks more about wanting to kiss Sherlock more times than he thinks about dying there and then because he’d leave happy.

 ** _John is forty-seven_** when he invites his sister to his and Sherlock’s wedding. His big sister goes to Baker Street in person, a smile on her face, because John was right, he needed to make peace with her. In that moment, the thoughts were there, but he muted them with a simple hug from his sister. They’d come back obviously, they’d never leave, but they’re asleep for now.

 ** _John is forty-seven and a half_** , when Sherlock and him walk the aisle, Rosie behind them with some flowers. When they say yes and he looks to all the people there that he loves, John thinks about dying in all that happiness and he immediately knows he wants to wait a little longer because he can’t say no to the incredible adventure Sherlock and him will go on.

And the thoughts can suck it up!

**Author's Note:**

> At the end, suicidal thoughts don't just go unfortunatelly, sometimes our reasons to live win, sometimes they lose. And when they lose, it's important to have someone - professional or not - to go to.
> 
> I love you all!
> 
> Kiss kiss,  
> 


End file.
